Superstar team
by Fate4Destiny
Summary: Singer! Francis x reader. Fame changes people, but does love stand strong?


**A/N: I've read a couple of singer/ stat nation/ reader stories. So here's mine. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own France (I MUST start working on how to take over the world)**

**Pairing: Singer! France x reader**

Francis Boonefoy had everything. A lush mansion, penthouses in major cities, screaming fans, a different women each night. He was a heartthrob, beautiful silky hair and baby blue eyes which shone with affection. His voice was silky and flowed in French so beautifully. He was deserving of being perhaps one of the most famous singers in the world.

But he was a nightmare in the morning.

You watched the Frenchman shuffle inside the large music room and stifle a yawn.

"I'll pay you double to take ze day off, oui?"

"Non."

You lowered your eyes in a slight glare and watched the French singer slowly come towards the piano you sat at. His confident swagger was gone, his sexy smirk was nowhere to be found. He wore his pyjamas and his feet were bare. His hair looked like a mess and it was already eleven in the morning. And you knew why.

You could remember when Francis was your friend. He'd be cooking breakfast for you, talking, chatting, you two were a pair set for great things. Then Francis had it all; fame, money, women, drinks, partying, it made him a jerk.

And you were still the person who was at his side. If his managers couldn't get you to move, he would never accomplish the task. You were his song writer. The person who won him awards and fans. The person who made his French part of his career. Because he would never give up the language. You thought him English and managed to make him speak and sing it. This extended his fan base internationally.

And yet, he was a jerk to you most times. At least now he was sober.

"Vhat song did you come up wiz?"

"I thought we were writing one together..."

You cast a look behind your shoulder at Francis. He rubbed his tired eyes then shook his head.

"I can get people to vrite songs for me on zeir own. Zis vill vaste my time."

"Then I have some here..."

The Frenchman sat on the edge of the bench as you showed him two songs. The first was a catchy beat, party style song which Francis merely nodded to. The second was a slow song. Words unfolded on how the singer was becoming cast away like a shadow, still trying to live up to their lover's reputation. But they just couldn't match up. If only their heart could realize that.

"Ze first."

You nodded, knowing what he would say. His style had changed so much. Now it was American pop style songs, German techno, you wished he'd sing a French song again just so you could hear that beautiful voice of his.

"I 'ave to get changed."

You watched Francis go as you played some keys. After a few minutes you had a question about how he would sing the song he selected.

You walked over to where his bathroom was before hearing his silky voice.

"And my 'eart aches~

Like ze roaring rain~

And I watch you~

Because you know vhere to go~

You never 'ave to vorry~

About a person like me or vhat I do~

But can't you 'ear it beat~

It 'urts, it breaks, it pounds me senseless~

Ze one I love is gone~

So please bring 'er back~

Just so I could say these words... Je t'aime..."

You were shocked at hearing Francis singing your second song. When he murmured the last two words they weren't even in the song. They were ones you wrote on the sheet music. They were meant for him.

You stood there for awhile before the door opened. Francis looked shocked to see you and he showed you the second song.

"I 'ave changed my mind."

He walked back off to the piano, tearing up the first song as he did so. When he sat down he played the keys flawlessly and pondered the last few keys. When you sat down he played then with a flourish and glanced at you.

"Je t'aime."

He rose his fingers from the keys and looked away from your unimpressed face.

"You seem like you can get into this song. Good. It's been awhile since you actually cared for what I wrote."

The Frenchman lowered his head and played a slow, sad melody on the piano.

"And I'll leave you be now, monsieur Bonnefoy."

You picked up your bag and left Francis's home as quickly as possible. It wasn't fair. The way his eyes looked so sad. He was probably thinking of that model he dumped during his international tour. You missed the old him so much, and it was partially your fault he was gone.

~XxX~

You sat in your favourite cafe, watching Francis's live show on your phone. It only made you feel worse. He was flirting with the crowds, not having a care in the world. And here you were, trying to drown it out with pastries. And they still weren't as good as Francis's.

By the time you got home it was late and you wanted to go to sleep. You turned on the lights and saw a email on your computer. It was from Francis's manager.

Good song, but not what he needs to become more popular.

You slammed the laptop closed and picked up a magazine. His face was all over it. You laughed helplessly when the article said his favourite flower was a lily. It was a fleurs-de-lys, and no, his favourite was a red rose. Cliché, but it was one of those things you loved about the man.

~XxX~

You woke up to your phone rigging, the ringtone being a piano version of one of Francis's first songs. You picked it up then spoke grudgingly.

"Hello? Bonjour?"

"Hello, love. My name is Arthur Kirkland, you may have heard of me. I heard your song and really liked it. So, poppet, want to work for me?"

After an hour of discussion, you said yes.

~XxX~

You didn't tell Francis you were leaving. You were just another worker to him, nothing more. He had plenty of others to write his songs. Songs his fans wanted.

There was a knock on the door and you opened it up. You saw Francis and raised an eyebrow.

"May I come in?"

You moved aside and let the Frenchman in. He glanced around then gave a nostalgic smile.

"You still live 'ere..."

"We don't all get million dollar pay checks."

You went to your room and began putting more clothes in bags.

"Are you moving?"

"For awhile, yes. I work for somebody else now..."

"Vhy didn't you tell me?"

Francis's voice was soft and a lot more caring. He sat on the edge of your bed and you looked down at him.

"Why would I? I'm just an employee of yours. You don't even like my songs anymore."

"Zat's is not true. I love zem. It's my manager vho doesn't."

"Well your manager pays my pay checks."

Francis sighed and traced his eyes over you bed.

"Zis is my fault. You vere always so mature, every guy vanted you. And vhen ve became friends, they 'ated me even more. I decided the only way to prove myself to you vould be to... vell to be more famous, 'ave more money, be more popular. And I zought I vould 'ave you. But vhenever I look, you aren't zere."

Francis slowly stood up and then placed a hand on yours, stopping your movements and making your breathing more shallow.

"If I knew you vouldn't be zere vhen I looked, I'd never vould 'ave done zis."

"Don't blame yourself. It's my fault to. But, be happy. Fame, fortune, that Brazilian model looked very sexy at your side."

Francis merely shook his head and looked at you with helpless eyes.

"I've only ever vanted you."

You eyes wavered at the man you wanted so badly to tell of your love. But he was a superstar. You'd only last a week with the way the media was.

"When I think of you, Francis, I always see the young man I knew. An artist, a chef, a lover, a gardener. All of those. I loved each one so much. I loved you, so much. And when you became famous, I only tagged along. You promised you'd never cheat on me back then, but now... It's a different women each night. I changed to. And you'd be happier with those different women then with me.

Back then, I understand. We wanted to please the other. We loved each other. But you should move on. Good bye, Francis."

And thus you pulled away and heard him beg in French behind you. When you closed the door to leave him be, he was on his knees and speaking French as fast as possible. He begged for forgiveness, your love, promising you he'd change everything. But you knew it was a promise nobody could keep.

~XxX~

You had been working with Arthur for two years and since then, worked with various artists. They all fired you when they became more popular. But you always searched for new stars to work for.

Walking in a small French town, the one Francis grew up in, you tried not to think of the memories. But walking to the house you two first moved into once done school, it was hard to cope. You didn't know why he bought it. All you knew was that he had bought it again and mailed you the key.

Slipping it into the door you unlocked it and opened it. You smelt fresh baked bread and wondered who that was. You wouldn't be surprised if the key was meant for one of Francis's lovers and it was mailed you by accident.

"Ma cherie, I was wondering when you'd come home."

You saw Francis wearing a loose white button shirt over a pair of old jeans. He had an apron around his waist and gave you a sincere smile.

"I zought maybe you'd give me a second chance. Stupid, I know. But I only could zink of ze fact you vould be 'ere. I quit everything else, gave up on it all. Vith one very risky plan which my 'eart is set on."

The Frenchman walked closer then went down on one knee. He pulled out a small white box then opened it. Your eyes watered when you saw the diamond ring.

"Vill you be mine, ma cherie?"

And his love was priceless beyond his career.


End file.
